


trace your path between the stars

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Space, Anal Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Rimming, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: "Kane, sir," the airman says. His voice is deep, but Jonny feels strangely off-balance, like there's something about this airman that isn't quite what he's used to. After a moment, he places the feeling: the airman's scent is only faintly discernible amongst the colourful mess of alpha scents in the bunk and on board the ship, with a weird sour note reminiscent of lemons. It throws Jonny for a loop, because he's never come across an alpha with a scent this muted and indistinct. He runs a critical eye over him; how did he make it out of the Space Academy and onto his dreadnought? Is he even any good?"Patrick Kane, from Buffalo, New York," Seabs says quietly from behind him. "Graduated top of his class at the Academy, sir. With distinction."





	trace your path between the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was entirely 100% inspired by a certain jonathan toews' new high-and-tight [military](https://www.instagram.com/p/BjId0hBhR6y/?hl=en&taken-by=jonathantoews) [haircut](https://78.media.tumblr.com/8370570c3a9a2c52619be28f1a26a823/tumblr_p99mivxdxq1wn3oyxo1_1280.jpg). i mean, seriously. he looked so hot that i had to write a whole fic about him as a sexy starship commander in the military right away, okay. (and patrick's hair in this fic is his [buzz cut](http://s354.photobucket.com/user/lechatsavant/media/Patrick%20Kane/a6329a0b895c02781080765daca110ec.jpg.html) circa 2011 - which, for the record, i also find hot. there's no saving me anymore.)
> 
> a million hearts and thank yous to heartstrings, who spent the whole weekend encouraging me, pushing me, and helping me to get this finished, as well as doing an absolutely A+ job betaing this for me. this wouldn't be in existence at all without her! thank you, lovely <33333
> 
>  **edit (07/01/2018):** a huge thank you to namesintherafters for making me a beautiful moodboard for the fic!! check it out [here](https://namesintherafters.tumblr.com/post/175420334647/trace-your-path-moodboard)!
> 
>  **edit (08/21/2018):** this fic is BLESSED because cuddlefighter made a gorgeous edit for it as well! check it out [here](https://cuddlefighter.tumblr.com/post/177231926818/kane-sir-the-airman-says-his-voice-is-deep)! thank you bb <3

The new airmen arrive onboard the dreadnought on a wintry February morning. They're at attention the moment Jonny enters the bunk, even though it's barely dawn and it's a long ride on the slow, ponderous transports from Earth to Dendraxis II airspace. Their uniforms are clean and freshly pressed, their backs perfectly straight, and they greet Jonny with a crisp "Sir!" when he takes his position at the head of the line.

Jonny doesn't say anything for a while, just casts his eyes over them, cataloguing each new face in his mind. Seabrook shifts next to him, waiting for his next order or instruction.

"These are the new airmen from the Chicago Space Academy on Earth?" Jonny asks him quietly.

"Yes, Colonel," Seabs replies. "Nearly all of them are from the same graduating class. They've come with very good recommendations from Major General Quenneville."

"Begin roll call," Jonny orders.

"Yes, sir," Seabs says, and turns to relay Jonny's orders to the men. Jonny watches as they all stand a little straighter, scents turning a little sharper.

He walks down the line, stopping for a few seconds in front of each man to inspect him, as they call out their names one by one for roll call. Seabs follows alongside him, reading to Jonny off his tablet with information about each airman, where they're from, their academy performance; Jonny listens and nods accordingly.

The airman in the middle of the line is surprisingly short and small - the top of his head barely clears Jonny's lips, if that, and it makes Jonny stop longer than he would in front of him. He hasn't ever really seen an alpha this undersized in the military. The airman has the same military buzz cut all his classmates have, but his hair glints golden blond, and when he points his eyes straight ahead Jonny can see they're a startling shade of pale blue-grey fringed by long golden lashes.

"Kane, sir," the airman says. His voice is deep, but Jonny feels strangely off-balance, like there's something about this airman that isn't quite what he's used to. After a moment, he places the feeling: the airman's scent is only faintly discernible amongst the colourful mess of alpha scents in the bunk and on board the ship, with a weird sour note reminiscent of lemons. It throws Jonny for a loop, because he's never come across an alpha with a scent this muted and indistinct. He runs a critical eye over him; how did he make it out of the Space Academy and onto his dreadnought? Is he even any good?

"Patrick Kane, from Buffalo, New York," Seabs says quietly from behind him. "Graduated top of his class at the Academy, sir. With distinction."

Without saying a word or taking his eyes off the airman, Jonny holds his hand out for Seabs' tablet, and Seabs gives it to him. He scrolls down the page detailing Kane's biography - and it's unbelievable, but Seabs didn't read it wrong. He went through four years at the Academy, finishing each year at the top of his class. He's passed all his physicals, and there's no indication of anything physically wrong with him, except that he's smaller than the average alpha.

Somehow, Kane is an undersized alpha airman who looks like a beta, has a alpha scent that's strangely flat and weak, and yet, in the words of every trainer he's had at the Academy, has the "best hands and quickest reflexes" of any airman in his cohort, by far.

It's - strange, but his file can't be wrong. Jonny hands the tablet back to Seabs, looks back at Kane, and says simply, "Welcome aboard, airman. I'm anxious to see if you're as good in actual combat as your Academy record shows."

Kane tilts his head slightly. "I hope I don't let you down, sir."

\---

Jonny stands in the control room, looking over the bank of monitors in front of him. Each simulator in the training room has a feed to one monitor, and the comms links are all open, so Jonny can hear and see every airman as the training exercise enters its final hour.

"How are they doing?" he asks Duncs, who's overseeing the exercise. Duncs taps a few buttons on his computer; Jonny watches as lines of code scroll past in a blur.

"Well, out of twenty-eight airmen, twenty-four are down," he says matter-of-factly. "Four still in the training sim."

Jonny looks back at the monitors. Murphy's face is gleaming in the dim, eerie green light of the simulation cockpit he's in; he's absolutely drenched in sweat. Duclair is hunched over his bank of dials and buttons, looking drawn and exhausted; Jonny thinks he's going to slip up soon.

"They're completely exhausted though. I'm going to send in a new wave of drones now," Duncs informs Jonny dispassionately, like he's talking about what's being served for lunch in the mess hall later. "Think they can take those down?" His fingers fly over the keyboard, and Jonny hears the remaining four airmen groan in frustration through their speakers, as the little computer drones Duncs sends out appear on their simulator radars.

Sometimes Jonny gets a little discomfited by Duncs; there's no one else on his ship who takes as much pleasure in putting airmen through the most fiendishly difficult and exhausting training exercises.

"Fuck," Hayden says, his voice tinny through his comms headset. "Fuck, I can't - I'm shot. Mayday, I've been shot. Shields are down, engine two crippled."

Duncs clicks on his own headset. "You're out, Airman Hayden. Get out of the sim."

Jonny sees Hayden thump his fists on his simulator's flight deck in frustration. He's got a bit of a temper then, Jonny thinks. Has to learn to keep that under control.

"I'm down," Duclair says, not thirty seconds later. "Both engines are gone. I'm out."

There are only two airmen left now - Murphy and Kane.

Murphy looks even more shaken than he did just five minutes ago. Jonny glances over at the monitor linked to Kane's simulator - and draws up short, because Kane looks absolutely calm. His eyes are narrowed with focus and he's biting his lower lip, but other than that, his face is dry as a bone, his hands steady and sure as they fly over the flight deck. Jonny watches the steady blip, blip of drones winking out on Duncs' screen as Kane shoots them down with deadly accuracy.

"Kane seems to be handling it well," he says.

"Kane's the best out of his entire cohort," Duncs says. "The kid has zero fear. Never thrown a simulation at him that he couldn't get out of."

Jonny bends closer to look at the monitor that's running a score of Kane's statistics in the current exercise. "He passed the stealth exercise earlier as well?"

"Aced it. Brought down the whole dreadnought."

"And he's now running at… six hundred and three ships shot down."

"Yeah," Duncs says, nodding. "Over the last eight hours of the exercise."

Jonny straightens; he runs his hand through the short, clipped hair at the back of his head. "That's an insane number, Captain."

"I think he means to beat the training record, Colonel," Duncs says dryly. Jonny watches the numbers on Kane's screen go up.

"That record was set forty years ago."

"Time for someone to beat it, then," Duncs shrugs.

On the monitors, Murphy yells in frustration. "Shit, I'm out," he says. "Sorry, sir. I'm down."

Before Duncs can speak, Jonny clicks on his comms. "You did well, Murphy," he says without preamble. "Go and prepare for the debriefing later."

Murphy blinks on the screen; he clearly hadn't been expecting the ship's commander himself to be present at the training exercise. "Yes, sir," he says.

Now Jonny can turn his full attention to Kane; it's incredible, but Kane isn't slowing down, doesn't show any signs of panic or fear, even though he's able to see that his entire unit is now down and he's the only one left. He weaves through the spray of bullets the drones are sending at him like he's dancing through the simulated skies, hands flicking levers and turning dials as smoothly as breathing. There are just seventeen drones left, and as Jonny watches, Kane executes a somersault with his sim, takes aim at one drone, hits it dead on. He shoots and hits another one coming up behind him, and completes the roll with one more deadly accurate shot at one below his ship.

It blows Jonny away. The entire maneuver has taken less than two seconds, and Kane's dispatched three heat-seeking drones with that one move. The somersault roll is taught to airmen as a purely evasive maneuver. No one's ever tried to shoot down a starship in the midst of a roll.

"He's beat the record," Duncs says, and Jonny can _hear_ the satisfied excitement in his usually droll, uninflected voice.

Jonny stares at the numbers on the screen as they tick up and up, the drones vanishing one by one on screen as Kane takes them out systematically. Jesus.

"So he has," he says. "You're right, Duncs. The kid is good."

\---

Jonny commands a dreadnought with a fleet of over two hundred manned starships, thousands more unmanned drones, and nearly a hundred units of airmen, officers and crew.

Unit 88, though - Unit 88 really is something else. Maybe it's because most of them were in the Chicago Space Academy training and living together for four years, and they've developed exceptionally good chemistry and know each other well. Or maybe it's because they all somehow have especially high levels of skill and competence, and managed to wind up at the Academy together. Or maybe it's just because Kane is head and shoulders above any airman Jonny's seen and elevates the rest of his unit that way.

Whatever the reason, Unit 88 sails through their training and combat exercises with ease. The stealth missions - which traditionally give most new flight units the most issues - check. The scouting missions - check. The combat missions - check. The transport missions - check.

"They're scoring very high," Duncs says, when he brings Jonny the weekly training logs.

"But Kane gets the best scores," Jonny says. It's a statement, not a question, and he's not surprised when Duncs nods.

"Since Unit 88 is moving so fast and proving themselves capable, I suggest you speed their training up," Jonny says. "Get them combat ready as soon as you can. I'll monitor them personally."

"Yes, Colonel."

\---

Kane might have the most skilled hands and quickest reflexes of any new airman who Jonny's come across, but he's surprisingly quiet and reserved. The thing about being in the military and cooped up on a ship for months on end, in an alpha-only environment, is that talk inevitably gets crude. Kane's almost always silent at those times, keeping his head down and his focus on whatever task is at hand. Jonny's never seen him join in the banter.

He's in the mess hall when he spots Unit 88 seated at a long table, laughing uproariously at something Versteeg's just said. Kane is seated at one end of the table, head bent over his bowl of plain oatmeal, stirring it round and round; he's moving his spoon in a maddeningly slow spiral, and perhaps no one but Jonny would notice the jerkiness in his repetitive movements, but it makes Jonny take his tray over to their table.

Kane only looks up when Jonny stands right in front of him, so his shadow falls over his food tray. From here, Jonny can see that his oatmeal's barely eaten and already halfway to mush from his stirring.

"Gentlemen," Jonny says. "May I join you?"

A chorus of "of course" and "go ahead, sir" answers him, and he slides onto the bench directly opposite Kane. Kane barely flicks his eyes up at him before he's looking down into his bowl again; he looks slightly pale, and he's hunched over like he's trying to shrink into himself.

"So," Jonny says, directing his question at the men down the table, "what was Versteeg talking about earlier, that got all of you laughing?"

The men start laughing again; Versteeg's face takes on a sly little grin. "He was talking about shore leave, sir," Hartman says. "Our first shore leave comes up next week, when we land on Kuumona."

Ah, yes. Shore leave - the most eagerly anticipated week of every airman's year. Jonny thinks quickly - it's been nearly six months since Unit 88 arrived on board the Blackhawk, so yes, it's about the time for their first shore leave. "I see," he says dryly; he has an inkling of what the men were so tickled about now.

"Steeger says he can't wait," Duclair adds gleefully. "He's looking forward to an endless parade of hot little dripping omegas."

"As if Steeger could get any," Carcillo says. "If anyone, it'll be Hartzy and Duke who the omegas will line up for."

The guys start wolf-whistling and clapping again; Jonny notes that Kane remains quiet and still.

"Whatever," Steeger says. "Wait till I come back on board, my boys. I'll be so drenched in omega slick, you won't even be able to recognise my scent."

“We’d all prefer that anyway, omega slick definitely smells better than you," Murphy says. This causes a fresh round of laughter.

Across Jonny, Kane's movements slow to a complete stop; his shoulders stiffen visibly.

"God, I do miss the scent and taste of an omega though," Hayden says dreamily. "The way they smell, how they get so wet for it - man, I need shore leave to happen right now."

And - this is all common bunk banter, nothing out of the ordinary, but Kane is oddly pale, and there's a definite hardness in the lines of his shoulders. Jonny frowns a little. He doesn't usually discourage such talk unless it gets out of hand, but he's noticed this attitude in alphas who come from a family with many omegas - they're uncomfortable speaking of omegas in such an openly lewd manner. Jonny hasn't looked at Kane's personnel file beyond his performance at the Academy, but he thinks that if he does, he'll find that Kane might have several omega siblings.

He decides to try to change the topic.

"By the way, this reminds me," he says calmly, "Captain Keith went through the training logs of your last training exercise with me. He and I both think your unit is combat-ready now. By the time you return from your shore leave, you'll have your first real mission."

"Yes!" Versteeg shouts, and the men all cheer and high five each other. Even Kane looks over at his unit mates, eyes wide, and smiles as he accepts their claps on his back and fistbumps.

Kane has dimples in both cheeks. Jonny wonders why he's never noticed that before.

"I'm pleased to say that Airman Kane has performed spectacularly," he says. Kane's still smiling, dimples popping, and when he turns his eyes to Jonny, they're bright blue and glowing. "He has the highest scores in your unit, as I'm sure all of you know by now."

He waits while there's another round of cheering and backslapping, Kane smiling through it all. The hubbub's just dying down when Carcillo says, "Yeah, no one's surprised there. Kaner always got the best scores, even when we were at the Academy. Can't judge him by his cover, Colonel."

"Yeah, he might be small for an alpha, but he's got a big brain," Hayden jokes.

"And a big knot too, probably," Versteeg says, to more uproarious laughter. "Come on, Kaner - shore leave next week, you're going to get a line of omegas gagging for your knot and you know it. I don't know why you get so precious over it all the time."

Kane's mood changes so instantaneously that Jonny thinks he'd have missed it if he'd blinked; one moment he's smiling and pleased, the next the smile's slipped from his face like oil on glass, and his features smooth out into a blank canvas. The only indication of any emotion he might be feeling are his lips, tightly pressed together.

Abruptly he stands up. "I'm full," he says, and without another word he grabs his food tray and stalks off.

"You know, if he wasn't an alpha, I'd call him frigid," Versteeg comments. "He's cold as ice. Does he even know how to use his knot?"

"For god's sake, stop needling him, Steeger," Murphy says. "You know Kaner gets _weird_ about such things. Stop trying to piss him off."

"I'm not! I just think he needs to let loose, that's all. Get his knot wet, it'll do him a world of good. All he ever thinks about are his fucking numbers, and his combat performance - "

"Come on, Steeger - "

Jonny tunes them out. He's still thinking about the way Kane looked as he walked off, with that quiet blankness on his face, his thinned lips.

He wonders what's making Kane shut himself down like that.

\---

In his quarters, Jonny calls up the personnel files on his computer. "Get me Kane, Patrick," he says. The computer whirrs, and Patrick's file appears on the screen.

Jonny scrolls down to the section about Patrick's family. He comes from a nice, normal, middle-class family in Buffalo; his father owns a hovercraft dealership and his mother's a homemaker. He has three sisters. Jonny looks at their names and dynamics; they're listed in order of age.

 _Erica Kane - beta_  
_Patrick Kane - alpha_  
_Jessica Kane - beta_  
_Jacqueline Kane - alpha_

And - huh. That's - not what Jonny's expected at all. He leans back in his chair.

Kane's a conundrum, but an intriguing one.

\---

Jonny's visited Kuumona numerous times before, so when they land at the spaceport there, he doesn't feel the need to stay on the planet any longer than it takes him to get a hovercraft taxi to the trading centre, purchase some supplies, and return to the Blackhawk. He does run into most of his men at the trading centre, and practically all of them are only passing through there on their way to the pleasure district.

More than one omega tries to stop him as he makes his way through the markets, flirting openly with him, smiling and batting their lashes. He gets it: Kuumona is a large port in this star system, often visited by military units who haven't seen an omega in months and are willing to pay for the opportunity to knot a few. But he does nothing more than smile and nod politely at them before moving on.

He spots Unit 88 as well, laughing and talking to each other as they disappear into the bright neon-lit streets of the pleasure quarter. He notices that Kane isn't among them.

The dreadnought is near-silent when he returns, save for the low humming of its engines and and the grinding and clanking of metal here and there on the ship; over the years he's served on board, Jonny's grown to appreciate the few days of shore leave when most of the men are off-ship and there's a calm and quiet he rarely gets to experience.

He decides to take a shortcut through the starship hangar to his quarters; it's usually full of crew working on the ships, but it's dead silent today. Jonny turns a corner towards where the Lightwings are berthed; and jumps, because someone's just run smack into him.

"Kane?" he asks in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Kane stares up at him; his lips are slightly parted, pink and wet, and Jonny finds himself staring at them for some unfathomable reason. Then he snaps back to himself, because - jesus, what's wrong with him? Kane's an _alpha_.

It's a little rude, but he breathes in deep as subtly as he can, and this time, with Kane standing so close to him and free of the usual miasma of alpha scents on the ship, Kane's scent is detectable; still faint and weak, with a slightly sour lemon-like note to it. Jonny can't shake off the feeling that something's strange about his scent - but it would be incredibly impolite to scent him further or bring up the topic of how he smells. It's probably the mutedness of it that's throwing him off, but it's there, and unmistakably alpha.

"I apologise, sir," Kane says; he takes a step back from Jonny, as if he knows what Jonny's doing. "I was just looking over my Lightwing. Captain Sharp said Lightwing 19 would be assigned to me, and I wanted to take a closer look at it."

"Oh?" Jonny says. Kane's started walking, and Jonny falls into step next to him. "Care to show me what you think?"

"Of course," Kane says, and then they're walking in silence across the hangar, to berth 19. Jonny racks his brain for something to say.

"So - why aren't you out? I saw your unit as I was walking through the trading centre."

"I did go out," Kane says. "Got myself some things I needed, sent some communications back home."

"I saw them going into the pleasure district," Jonny ventures to say.

Kane glances at him, but just then they reach where Lightwing 19 is parked, and the nose of the ship casts Kane's face in shadow for a moment so Jonny can't see his expression. By the time they pass under the shadow, his face is as blank as it usually is. "I know," he says simply.

"And - you didn't want to go?"

"I didn't want to go," Kane repeats coolly. He looks up at the Lightwing and pats the silver-grey metal of the fuselage.

"I like her," he says; the shift in conversation topics startles Jonny for a moment. "I'm excited to take her out in combat."

"Our Lightwings are good vessels," Jonny agrees. "I'm eager to see how you'll handle her in combat - but if your training sims are anything to go by, you wouldn't have much of an issue."

"Thank you, sir," Kane says quietly.

Jonny licks his lips; there's a strange tension hanging in the air between them, and he's not sure why. "So - why didn't you want to go with your unit mates?" he asks before he can think better of it. He doesn't even know why he's so fixated on the subject; he's just - intensely curious, for whatever reason. Kane is full of contradictions, so different from any military alpha he's met in the past. "You know, it's quite normal. Units bond with each other that way, take time out to have fun, share some camaraderie. And I'm sure all of you have some steam to burn off after being in close quarters for six months."

Kane looks back at him; he doesn't look angry or offended, but he tilts his head as if he's curious. "And you, sir?"

"Me?"

"Why aren't _you_ spending your shore leave in the pleasure district, then? I've heard enough talk this past week about the omega delights on offer in Kuumona."

Jonny might have been annoyed by such a bold question from a subordinate, but there's no malice whatsoever in Kane's tone, just an open, mild curiosity. He looks Kane straight in the eye, and says honestly, "I don't need to pay for company."

To his surprise, a pink flush appears, high on Kane's cheekbones, and he looks away from Jonny's gaze.

"It wouldn't matter if you did," Kane says at last. He's still inexplicably pink. "Like you said, it's normal for alphas - for us. We have urges."

Jonny shrugs. "Only weak alphas can't control their knots long enough to find a willing partner."

The flush on Kane's cheeks deepens. It makes something strange prickle across Jonny's skin.

\---

Jonny ends up spending two hours with Kane in the hangar; after the initial weirdness passes, their conversation moves on to more everyday topics that Kane's comfortable with. They discuss the war on the Federation, the different types of starships on the Blackhawk, different combat tactics - and Kane's mind is as sharp as any of his battle-tested veterans. Jonny's extremely impressed with him. He thinks Kane will end up rising through the ranks even quicker than Major Hossa did.

Eventually, the conversation turns less impersonal, more informal, when Jonny asks about his family. The smile that breaks out on Kane's face when he speaks about them is warm and bright, like a miniature sun. "I miss them, of course," he says, as he picks up a spanner and tightens bolts on his Lightwing - which probably don't even need tightening anyway, as Captain Sharp and his engineering crew do an excellent job. Jonny thinks he probably just needs something to do with his hands - he does that a lot, fidgeting and running his fingers over his face, playing with the tools in his hands. "But they're great. They're proud of me serving in the military."

"And they should be," Jonny agrees. "You've always wanted to be in the military?"

"Always," Kane says, nodding. "I think - since I was a child, and realised I had an aptitude for this stuff. You know, mechanical engineering, physics. Flying. My dad owns a hovercraft dealership - I was piloting those through Buffalo before I was even legal to fly one."

"Me too," Jonny says, nodding. "My father was an electrician, and he'd - you know those mini-simulators they sell for children? He'd wire them up, enhance their graphics cards, mod them a little bit for my brother and me, so we could pretend we were in some galaxy somewhere, shooting down Federation assholes."

They both laugh; Kane's dimples appear again, flashing in his cheeks.

A bell rings just then, and Jonny looks up and checks the time on his pocket computer. "Is it already lights out soon?" he asks. He's been so preoccupied chatting to Kane that he hadn't noticed, but now as he listens to the familiar sounds of his dreadnought, he can hear the chatter and footsteps of men. The units are returning already, then, before their curfew.

"It appears so," Kane says. He rises to his feet in a fluid, graceful motion, and then after a moment's hesitation, he offers his hand to Jonny. "Come on, Colonel."

Jonny grasps Kane's hand - it's steady and sure, big and calloused like every other military alpha Jonny's ever shaken hands with - and pulls himself to his feet. "Thanks for the company, Airman," he says.

Kane quirks a smile at him. "Anytime, sir," he says. "It was more enjoyable than wandering the streets with my rowdy unit mates, for sure."

Jonny nods at him, smiling back. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, sir."

\---

From that day on, the ice seems to break between him and Kane; every time he enters their bunk for inspection, or joins his unit for meals, or drops in on their combat training, Kane gives him a quick smile. Just a little _hello, Colonel, I see you._ Sometimes he stops to talk, asks Jonny about his day.

It's - nice. Jonny has a good rapport with all his men, but airmen are usually either intimidated by him, try too hard to impress him, or talk about things that younger kids are into and which Jonny doesn't get. Kane is none of those, and it makes him feel at ease.

"Kaner's quite friendly with you, sir," Murphy observes one day after Kane's spent the entirety of dinner deep in conversation with Jonny about the combat mission his unit had flown a few days ago. They'd completed their mission with an impressive twelve Federation transports and eight defense ships shot down, which in turn enabled Lieutenant Crawford to successfully cut off Federation reinforcements to the Ghadin system. They've well and truly shut the door in this area of the galaxy.

Jonny startles a little. "Yeah?" he asks, and starts worrying right away if it's too obvious, if he's showing favouritism to Kane. It's the last thing he wants to do as commander - single out people for favouritism. Jonny wants every cog in his ship running smoothly, and for that he needs his men happy and contented and not the least bit slighted.

"Oh, it's just strange, sir," Murphy says. "He's usually reticent with most people outside of our unit. Keeps to himself a lot. He's a great guy though. But sometimes he comes off as aloof, maybe snobbish or arrogant, even, to people who don't know him."

"I did notice that, yes. But I suppose that's just his personality. Some people just tend to be reserved - even alphas."

"He's a strange one, our Kaner," Murphy chuckles. "Brilliant as fuckall, but weird."

"Weird like how?"

"Well - he's incredibly prissy, for one," Murphy says. "We've been classmates and unit mates since the Academy, and I swear to you, he's never even shared a shower with any of us. You know what military life is like, sir - we just hop into the showers and scrub down, and then we get dressed or undressed, no big deal. But Kaner - he just sits around in all his gear and does his own shit, waits for us all to be done, and _then_ he'll go shower."

Jonny considers this; there's no doubt it's strange, alphas live in such close quarters in the military that one has to go well out of their way to avoid seeing someone else naked - or to keep people from seeing them in the nude. "But he doesn't have any problems bonding with his team, does he? Even if he keeps himself separate like that?"

"Oh no, not at all - like I said, he's great, we all like him, and you know we were all happy for him when his promotion was announced. He just has his weird habits, is all. We call him the Victorian maiden, because he's prissy as hell, but we're used to him."

Jonny shakes his head. As long as Kane plays well with his unit - and there have never been indications that he can't or won't - Jonny's cool with whatever strange quirks he might have.

\---

It's just a couple of weeks later that Jonny's in the barber's onboard the dreadnought, getting his hair clipped, when Kane - now First Lieutenant Kane after a double promotion, following his successful first solo combat mission - walks in. He stops when he sees Jonny, one of the barbers hovering behind him. "Good evening, sir," he says.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," he says, and watches as Kane drops into the chair next to him; he catches the faintest waft of Kane's scent, bland and subdued as always. "And congratulations on your promotion, by the way. Well-deserved."

Kane glances over at him with a smile. "Sir, you approve every single promotion on this dreadnought. So I ought to thank you, really, for the opportunity."

Jonny shrugs as well as he can with a razor blade perilously close to the back of his neck. "Like I said, you deserve it."

"Look straight ahead, please," Kane's barber cautions him, and they fall silent as Kane turns back to face the mirror in front of him.

Jonny, on the other hand, stares at Kane covertly through his mirror.

Lieutenant Kane's hair glows faintly gold in the harsh lightbulbs of the barbershop. Jonny notices that his hair's already a lot longer than is allowed by regulation, certainly much longer than Jonny himself would allow his hair to grow before he heads to the barber for his military high-and-tight. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask Kane when the last time he cut his hair was, when Kane turns slightly to say something to his barber, and Jonny sees that the hair at the nape of his neck is curling gently in soft spirals.

Kane has curly hair. Now that Jonny's noticed it, he can see quite clearly the way his hair curls into little tendrils at the top and back of his head. He wonders, suddenly, how Kane would look if he let his hair grow out in its entirety, if his curls would be golden and wild and fall over his cheeks and forehead in the way he's seen in some of the old paintings back on Earth.

"Sir?" his barber says; Jonny blinks, tearing his eyes away from the reflection of Kane in the mirror.

"Yes?"

"You're done."

"I - oh. Thank you."

Jonny waits until the barber lifts the protective sheet from his shoulders and brushes the hair clippings away before he stands. He allows himself to look over at Kane, looking strangely small in the wide barber's chair, the barber busy behind him shaving off the barely-grown curls.

"I'll see you later, Lieutenant," he says.

"Yes, sir," Kane answers, and smiles at him in the mirror. It's at that moment that Jonny sees it: a fine blond lock of hair with a curl at its end, shorn from the back of Kane's neck, floating slowly down to the floor to join a little pile of soft blond hair at the barber's feet. As he watches, the barber steps around to shave the other side of Kane's head, and steps carelessly into the hair as he does so.

There's a weird - heaviness, of something in his throat, Jonny doesn't know what, and a strange sour taste in his mouth. He turns and leaves before he makes this any weirder.

\---

Their stop at Landarme IV is a quick one, just two days; but Jonny approves a day's leave for the men anyway, because he can sense they're getting a little restless, tempers getting frayed around the edges. It's one of the pitfalls of having an all-alpha military, and something Jonny knows to expect every few months on long campaigns like these.

Landarme IV's a garden planet, pretty much - covered in flora of all forms, and Jonny loves it, always makes sure to pick up some new plant seeds from there for the dreadnought's solarium. It's Jonny's personal pet project, turning the solarium into a miniature flower dome of sorts, a burst of flowers and colour in the midst of all the dull grey metal of the ship. Sergeant Darling maintains it beautifully, and from reports filtering in to him now and then, Jonny gathers that the crew do like spending time in the flower dome, so he considers it time and credits well spent.

The elevator pod that's supposed to take him planetside arrives - and when he steps into it, Lieutenant Kane is there. His mouth falls open for a moment; but then he seems to gather himself. "Good morning, sir," he says, shifting to make way for Jonny in the cramped pod. "Heading planetside?"

Jonny can't answer at first - he's never seen Kane in civilian clothes, as he's dressed now for his shore leave. He's wearing Earth-style clothes: a soft-looking pale blue collared shirt that's stretched over his shoulders, and tight dark jeans. Jonny can't help but stare; it's like a shock to his system to see Kane out of his usual red-and-black combat gear, or dull grey, loose-fitting off-duty overalls. The jeans cling to his calves and thighs like a second skin.

Kane has very slender legs for an alpha, is the random and completely inappropriate thought that surfaces in Jonny's mind.

Kane cocks his head. "Sir?" he asks, as the pod lurches to a stop. Jonny blinks when the door whizzes open and the bright sunshine of Landarme IV pours in.

"Sorry," he says. "I was - just thinking about something. You - you're spending the day off the ship, then? Any particular plans?"

Kane turns his face up to the sun and shuts his eyes for a moment, as if relishing the heat and vitality of it on his face. It evokes in Jonny an image of a sunflower, face turned to the sun, golden petals a halo around the pistil just like the way Kane's short blond hair glows a fiery gold in the light.

"Not really," he says, as he blinks his eyes open. "I know Landarme's supposed to be a beautiful city, like a large garden - so I thought I'd just walk around, take in the sights."

"Do you want to walk with me then?" Jonny asks on impulse; Kane looks up at him in surprise. "I've been to Landarme a few times and know my way around."

"Oh - I wouldn't want to impose, if you have your own plans," Kane says, looking alarmed.

"Not at all, Lieutenant. I'm just going to a nursery I always visit when I have the chance, to pick up some new seeds for our solarium, and then I'm free the rest of the day. I'd be more than glad to show you around the city."

"Then I'll take up your offer, sir," Kane says, smiling up at Jonny. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Jonny says as they start walking towards where a line of hovercraft taxis are waiting. A gust of wind blows Kane's scent into Jonny's nose at that moment, that faint, sourish, colourless alpha smell of his that always makes Jonny feel strangely off-kilter.

He shakes himself a little just to clear his head. It won't do to start getting all weird around Kane yet again. "Why are you alone today, though? Where's the rest of your unit?"

Kane casts a sidelong look at him. "What do you think, sir?"

Jonny's confused for a second, and then - oh. Yeah. Landarme's pleasure districts aren't anywhere near as large or popular as those on Kuumano, but there still are ample opportunities for alphas hungry to wet their knots on the planet. It figures that's where most of his crew will be - where Unit 88 probably is.

He looks at Kane and wonders again why he's not doing the same thing his unit is, before it occurs to him that Kane's probably thinking the same of him too. So he's glad that their taxi takes an especially scenic route to the nursery, where he can distract them both by pointing out the giant, house-sized lilac flowers that Landarme's famous for, and the wispy floating white petals in the air that look like tiny snowflakes, from the native snowstorm flowers.

A slender, pretty omega with long dark hair comes to greet them when they arrive at the nursery. "Welcome, sir," she says, addressing Jonny, as if Kane isn't even there. "How can I be of service today?"

"Uh, I just want to look around at your greenhouse, and maybe check out some of the new seasonal seeds you have?" Jonny says, glancing over at Kane. He doesn't seem to mind the slight, just looks around slowly at the plants inching over every available surface.

"Of course," she says eagerly. "This way please, sir."

There's that singular 'sir' again. Jonny looks again at Kane, but he shows no sign of being offended, simply following calmly behind Jonny as the omega leads them to the greenhouse.

She ends up basically latching on to Jonny like a limpet; Jonny thinks she doesn't stay more than two paces from him the entire time they're there, and ordinarily he'd have been flattered, maybe even interested. She is rather pretty, after all, with that underlying sweetness to her scent that all omegas have, and she's making it abundantly clear that _she's_ on offer, if Jonny wants more than just a chat about plants.

But instead he finds himself annoyed more than anything else, especially when he's trying to carry on a conversation with Kane and she keeps interrupting, laughing a little too loud at what he says and coyly flicking her hair over her shoulders; and it only makes his mood worse when he notices how she very clearly devotes attention only to him, and barely acknowledges Kane at all.

In the end, he cuts their time there much shorter than he would have liked, purchases a random handful of seeds, and heads out of the nursery, the omega's scent sickeningly thick in his nose by now because she's been throwing off so much of it around him.

Kane quirks an eyebrow at him when they're in a taxi again; he looks amused. "Did you realise she was flirting with you - flirting _outrageously_ at that?" he asks bluntly, like Jonny's a friend and not his superior.

"The only way I could miss that is if I didn't have a nose," Jonny grunts.

"I wondered if you actually did miss it," Kane says. "Most alphas would have taken her up what she was offering, she wasn't making any secret of it. She was pretty, wasn't she?"

"I suppose," Jonny says. "But - I'm not here for that, and she's not my type."

Kane's eyebrows shoot up higher.

"And she was ignoring you the entire time," Jonny adds. "It was rude as hell. You think I'd be interested in an omega with no manners?"

Kane looks mildly stunned for a moment; then he schools his face back into that same blank expression that gives nothing away. "It's fine. Really. I didn't even notice it - I'm surprised _you_ did. I was too busy trying not to laugh at how desperately hard she was throwing out pheromones at you, and you were so annoyed by it."

"It's not fine, it was fucking rude," Jonny says. "You - you're an alpha too, I'm not the only one - she could have been courteous and professional, and actually have done her job, and not acted like you were invisible."

This time, Kane does look shocked; he stares at Jonny as if he can't believe what he's hearing, and drags the back of his hand over his mouth slowly, like he has to touch his lips because he doesn't know what to say. "That's - very kind of you, sir," he says at last. His eyes are wide and round and very blue, and there's a flicker of - something in them, something that Jonny thinks could be admiration, of sorts.

Jonny shrugs. "I just want people to be decent to each other, regardless of dynamic."

"I wish they could be, too," Kane says quietly, and they ride the rest of the way in silence.

Jonny's no stranger to omegas flirting with him - he really isn't. There's no false modesty about him; he knows how he looks, he knows his status as a Space Corps colonel and commander of his own dreadnought. He's fucking spoilt for choice any time he sets foot on an inhabited planet.

And yet - for whatever utterly mystifying reason - he'd much rather hang out with Lieutenant Kane like this, shoot the shit and have a cold beer and look at flowers on Landarme, than to get his knot wet with some one-off omega he'll never see again.

He must be getting old, he thinks.

\---

Jonny runs into Kane again one day just outside the ship's engine room. Kane looks slightly dishevelled, his overalls dirt-stained. There's a streak of dark engine oil on one cheek.

"Good afternoon, sir," he says when he sees Jonny. The tail end of the smudge on his cheek disappears into a deep dimple as he smiles; he looks happy, Jonny thinks.

"Were you in the engine room, Lieutenant?" Jonny asks, eyeing his outfit.

"Yes," Kane answers. "It's my rec time, so I asked Captain Sharp if he could let me take a look at the dreadnought's engines, see how he and his unit work with them. He was very helpful - it's been an interesting afternoon. He's a great mentor."

"Ah," Jonny says, impressed. He likes Kane's initiative - most guys would be playing video games in the rec rooms on their free time. "Yeah, Captain Sharp does an excellent job maintaining the inner workings of the ship. Great that you had a chance to learn with him." He grins down at Kane. "At least you're not spending all your free time on the trashiest video games in the galaxy."

Kane laughs. "I told you before, remember? I like this stuff. Mechanics and physics."

"Yes, I remember," Jonny says. "Well - good job, Lieutenant, I always like to see officers working hard and bettering themselves."

He lifts his hand to clap Kane on the shoulder, but just at that moment, Kane shifts his body a little more towards Jonny, his mouth opening like he's going to say something; and Jonny's hand lands on the back of his neck instead.

Kane's knees literally _buckle_ , as if Jonny's hand is a heavy weight instead of just resting gently on the nape of his neck.

Jonny sees it happen as if in slow motion - Kane's standing straight one second, his back perfectly straight, and the next his knees seem to fold under him as his back bows forward and his head droops. Jonny squeezes his hand tight on Kane's neck on pure instinct - as if he could hold Kane upright with that alone - and he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't heard it with his own ears, but Kane makes a strange sound, halfway between a sob and a whimper, and flings a hand up wildly, shoving himself away from Jonny with surprising strength.

Jonny drops his hand from Kane's neck and takes a step back. What the hell just happened?

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" he asks.

Kane's breathing hard, his face flushed; when he looks up at Jonny, he looks absolutely _horrified_. His throat works like he's trying to say something, but instead of speaking, he abruptly takes off, brushing past Jonny in a full run.

"Lieutenant Kane, wait - " Jonny starts to say, but Kane turns a corner and disappears from view, leaving Jonny completely baffled.

 _What the fuck was that about?_ he thinks to himself.

\----

Jonny can't be sure, but he thinks Lieutenant Kane's avoiding him after that incident. He sees him in the mess hall at every mealtime with his unit, but instead of stopping and chatting like he usually does, Kane turns away and pretends like he didn't see Jonny. He stops appearing at his usual hangouts on the ship, where Jonny knows he can stroll by if he wants to see Kane and talk to him.

It's pissing Jonny off, especially because he _knows_ that it's unseemly of him to be like this. It's strange, and disquieting, and completely inappropriate for Jonny to be this fixated on another alpha.

But - he can't put his finger on it, but there's something about Kane. He's different, and he's intriguing, and the fact that Jonny can't pinpoint exactly what's off about Kane, what's so mesmerising about him, is driving him up the _wall_.

After four days of barely seeing Kane and not speaking to him at all, Jonny informs Seabs that he'll drop in at the troop inspection for Unit 88 the next morning. "It's fine, you don't need to be with me," he says. "I just want to check in on them, inspect their bunks as well, maybe."

"Of course, sir," Seabs murmurs; but there's something in the grin he slants at Jonny that makes Jonny even more annoyed.

"You're dismissed, Captain Seabrook," he says, a little sterner and more formal than he usually would be, and Seabs leaves his quarters without another word.

\---

Unit 88 is lined up at assembly area 5 the next morning at precisely six a.m., uniforms starched and pressed flawlessly. They salute Jonny when Jonny strides in, but the first thing Jonny notices is the distinct lack of a short, blond alpha at the head of the line. That's where Lieutenant Kane is supposed to be - has always been, at every single morning assembly.

A bolt of annoyance shoots through Jonny. He looks carefully down the line, just to see if Kane's standing somewhere he isn't supposed to be - and no, he's not there. He counts the men off silently - twenty-two of them, one missing. Kane isn't here.

"Where's Lieutenant Kane?" he barks.

"Sir," Hartman says, "he wasn't feeling well."

"Not feeling well?" Jonny asks. "He's ill?"

"Yes, sir. He said he wasn't feeling too good and that he'd go to the medics."

"Thank you," Jonny says. "Carry on with your drills this morning, everyone. Lieutenant Crawford will be overseeing."

He waits for the unit to salute him before he leaves, heading towards the medical wing.

This early in the morning, every flight unit and crew are at assembly or drills, so the noise of the men onboard dies down the further he gets towards the medical wing, save for the clink of his boots on the metal as he walks. It's located deep in the innards of the ship, as far removed from noise and activity as it's possible to be on the dreadnought for the sake of the patients; and it takes Jonny ten minutes to reach it, despite taking all the shortcuts he can.

The medics on duty look surprised when he asks about Kane. "First Lieutenant Patrick Kane?" one of them asks, tapping away at his computer. "No - he hasn't been in, sir. We only have six men warded for training injuries right now, and we haven't yet had an outpatient visit this morning."

Jonny frowns - that can't be right. "Are you sure?" he asks. "His unit mate told me he was coming to the medical wing."

"Yes, sir. He's not here and he hasn't come in yet. But if he's ill, he should be coming in sometime today. We'll keep a lookout for him."

"Do that, and send me a comms when he does," Jonny says, and leaves, thinking hard.

If Kane's not in the medical wing - where the hell is he, and why didn't he turn up for troop inspection?

\---

Kane's not in Unit 88's bunk either, or anywhere around the wing where the flight units' sleeping quarters are located. Jonny's furious by this time, but also more than a little concerned; Kane's never missed a single day of training in the twenty months since he's arrived on the ship, has never been late or failed to turn up for anything. There's something not right going on, and Jonny needs to find him _now_.

He ends up heading back to his own quarters; his commander's bunk is by no means luxurious, not on a military dreadnought, but it's large and well-appointed, with his own office and private bathroom. It's tucked at the very nose of the ship, so with a touch of a button the walls can slide open to reveal a full-length glass panel, with the stars and the entirety of space spread out before him as the dreadnought moves slowly through the galaxy. It's one of the most relaxing views for Jonny on the ship, and what Jonny needs right now is to relax and calm the fuck down.

Plus, he can get the ship's computer to run a facial scan of every person on board from there, and find out where Kane is.

The elevator pod slides open to the corridor where his bunk is located; and he freezes, because Lieutenant Kane, the person he's hunting for, is _right there_ , outside the doors to his bunk. He's slumped to the ground, curled into a tight ball, and when he lifts his head to look at Jonny, Jonny can see that he's pale and sweating, his hair darkened from the sweat. His eyes are bleary and unfocused in the stark white light of the ship. It hits Jonny right away that something's very, very wrong.

"Shit," Jonny says, running out of the pod and down the corridor. "Kane! Why are you - "

He nearly trips over his own feet when Kane's scent hits him like a brick, strong and sweet. It's no longer faded or weak; it's so strong that Jonny's head gets clouded for a few long seconds, and there's no longer that faintly sour smell of lemon Jonny sometimes smells on Kane. Instead, there's a distinct fragrance of honey and violets in his scent.

And he doesn't smell like an alpha. He smells like an _omega_. Unmistakably, unambiguously, pure omega.

Jonny's world spins and tilts around him; he feels suddenly faint. He doesn't understand - he can't even think - what the fuck?

"Lieutenant," he says urgently, crouching down in front of from him. This close, he can see how shaken Kane looks, how white his face is. There are rivulets of sweat dripping down his brow, and he's curled into the fetal position, arms locked tight around his knees. "Kane - Patrick - why are you - why do you smell like an omega?"

His use of Lieutenant Kane's first name slips out unbidden, but it seems to clear Kane's mind a little, because he looks up at Jonny and chokes out a garbled word that Jonny can't make out. "Tell me. _Patrick_ , what's wrong - tell me what happened!"

Patrick reaches out with a shaking hand, and as if he's pulled by a magnet, Jonny moves forward helplessly, until Patrick grabs hold of his uniform. He's trembling from head to toe, but he uncurls himself and yanks Jonny closer, until he's tucked up against Jonny's chest, hand pressed against it, like he needs to have as much contact as possible. Jonny doesn't know what makes him do it, but he puts his arms around Patrick instinctively, holding him close.

He smells so strong, and so _good_. So fucking sweet. Jonny's head is foggy with it.

"Supps," Patrick croaks.

Jonny doesn't understand. "Supps?"

"Suppressants," Patrick says, chest heaving against Jonny's. "Mine… didn't arrive. Supply lines are cut."

There have been no supply lines cut to the dreadnought recently. They've been in the Cenderies System for a couple of months, and as far as Jonny knows, supply lines to and from Earth are still intact. "But - "

"Last month," Patrick gasps. "We - shut down Cender VI's trade routes. Blocked Federation from using them. But my - I ordered supps from there. They - they didn't come. And now - Colonel, I'm - "

"In heat," Jonny finishes numbly for him.

Lieutenant Patrick Kane is an _omega_. An omega who somehow passed all the tests and physicals for an alpha-only Space Corps. An omega _in heat_ , on his ship. And even despite the confusion and the million questions swirling in his head, he can feel his cock start thickening from Patrick's scent and the heat pheromones he's emanating.

What the _fuck_.

He still can't make head or tail of it, but some things are beginning to make sense. Patrick's an omega, and how he managed to join the military is a mystery, as well as how he managed to not only mask his scent but change it to that of an alpha's - but Jonny can deal with that later. Right now, what he knows is that Patrick didn't receive his monthly dose of suppressants from Cender VI, because they've set up a blockade and shut down the trade routes from there. Patrick must have known that too, while he was flying on that particular mission. He'd known there would be a blockade, and that he likely wouldn't receive his suppressants and his secret would be exposed - and yet he still went ahead and finished the mission faultlessly.

And now Patrick's going into heat, and he knew that, and he went to the only place on the ship where he thought he'd be safe - Jonny's quarters, which are scentproofed and soundproofed. The medical wing has scentproofed rooms, for alphas who may go into rut; but Patrick can't go there, because his identity would be exposed.

So he chose to come to Jonny instead.

Patrick's hand on his chest spasms and his fingers dig into Jonny, and Jonny makes a split-second decision.

"Okay, let's get you into my room first," he says. Patrick's scent is so strong that he's afraid it'll waft far enough to another part of the ship, and any alpha would be like a bloodhound with the smell of an omega in heat in his nose. He lifts Patrick to his feet; Patrick dangles uselessly in his arms, knees weak from it, as Jonny unlocks the door with a swipe of his card and half-carries him in.

He deposits Patrick on his bed and takes a step back from him - he can't keep touching him when he's in this state. Except that Patrick groans a little and reaches out for him like he needs it, and Jonny finds himself helpless to refuse him; he lets Patrick cling on to him, and just like he did four days ago, he puts his hand on the nape of Patrick's neck and squeezes a little, just to calm him, let him know there's an alpha around.

"Patrick," he says. He's never felt so helpless and unsure, in all his years as Colonel and commander. "What do you need? What can I do? I need to get help for you."

Patrick turns his face up to Jonny. His pupils are dilated, his irises a thin ring of blue around them. "Need you," he rasps. He turns his body to burrow closer to Jonny, and that's when Jonny sees the dark wet patch between his legs, clear as day on the grey fabric of his overalls.

Fuck. He's wet. He's leaking, and all the blood in Jonny's body reacts to that by rushing into his cock.

"No," he says, shaking his head to try to clear it. Patrick's scent is thick in the air, surrounding him; he smells so good it's making him dizzy. "Patrick, just - wait here, okay, you'll be safe here, my room's scentproofed. I'm going to go get a medic who can maybe help - "

"No!" Patrick says. "No medic. Just need you." He fists his hands in Jonny's uniform, tugging weakly. "Please."

"Jesus fuck," Jonny says. He can't lie - he wants Patrick, wants him badly. His cock is practically twitching in his pants from the sight and smell of Patrick's heat. But it's just a biological response, he thinks helplessly even though every fibre of his body is straining for Patrick, it must be just that -

"I came here because I wanted you," Patrick gasps. "Not because of your room. _You._ "

"Oh my god," Jonny says. His brain's screaming at him to just go ahead, put Patrick on his knees, fuck him like they both want to - but he can't.

"Please," Patrick says in a broken sob. "Jonny, please." The way Patrick says his first name in that pleading, shaky tone of voice is making his cock swell even more, and with the way Patrick's clutching at him and pressed against him, he knows there's no way Patrick can't feel it.

This is so wrong. This is going to get him into so much trouble. But Patrick's shivering against him, thighs twitching together, and he needs help right now.

He steels himself and tips Patrick's face up with two fingers under his chin. "Look at me, Patrick," he says, and Patrick blinks his eyes open to stare blearily at him. "Look me in the eye and tell me - tell me this is what you _truly_ want. Not because your heat's making you do it. I need you to want this of your own volition. Can you tell me truthfully?"

And somehow, miraculously, Patrick's eyes seem to clear and sharpen; he stares at Jonny with more lucidity than Jonny could have thought possible for an omega hurtling deep into heat, and says, shockingly clear, " _Yes._ I came to you because you, you're _my alpha_. Not because of - anything else."

Fuck. Patrick considers Jonny his alpha; for some reason, out of all the alphas Patrick lives with day in and day out, Jonny's the one Patrick's chosen.

 _Claim him,_ his hindbrain is yelling at him. _Take him; he's yours._

The last of Jonny's resolve disintegrates into nothing; and even though the rational part of him is telling him he's going to absolutely regret this later, he's already whispering, "Okay. Okay, Patrick. I'm going to take care of you."

Patrick sighs gratefully; he tugs at Jonny's shirt weakly, and Jonny pulls it off as quickly as he can with Patrick attached to him and refusing to let go. He kicks his pants off as well before unzipping Patrick's overalls, yanking them off him, and bites back a groan when he peels the fabric down over Patrick's thighs and they're gleaming in the light of his room, wet with the slick leaking down them.

Patrick's fucking beautiful. His body is pale and untouched by the sun, his legs as slender as how Jonny remembers them from before, when he was in his skinny jeans. His nipples are tight and pink and his cock, although generous for an omega, doesn't approach an alpha's size and girth, and of course it's missing the swelling at its base that will grow into a knot. Jonny understands now why Patrick's never allowed himself to be seen in the nude by his unit mates; and then he's unreasonably pleased that they never have, that _he_ gets to see it now.

Patrick whines a little, and Jonny realises he's been lost in his thoughts, staring at Patrick's body laid out in front of him.

"Sorry," he says. "Just need you to - yes, that's it, on your hands and knees - it'll be easier for you when we knot later."

At the mention of his knot, Patrick whines again; and now that he's rolled over onto his belly and lifted himself on his knees, Jonny can see a little spurt of slick squirt out of him and drip enticingly down his thighs.

" _Fuck_ ," he mutters, feeling lightheaded and more than a little crazy. "You're so pretty, and the way you smell - god, you smell fucking perfect." He can't even remember that strange, weak, flat way Patrick used to smell anymore. This, _this_ is how he truly is: sugar-sweet and making Jonny hot all over.

He gets his hands on Patrick's ass, spreads his cheeks open to look at his hole; it's gleaming wet with slick, sticky and pink, and Jonny can't help but lean forward and nose at the slick leaking down Patrick's inner thighs, inhaling the scent of honey and violets and spicy omega heat, swiping it up with his tongue as Patrick gasps, hips jerking against his hands.

Patrick smells so incredibly good, tastes so sweet, that Jonny thinks he'd better hurry and get his cock into him before he actually comes on the spot. He rubs his fingers over Patrick's hole; it twitches against his fingertips, slippery and soft, and Jonny sinks two fingers into it, just to see how wet Patrick is inside.

Fuck, he's _soaking_ , slick trickling between Jonny's fingers and over his knuckles. He pulls his fingers out to suck Patrick's slick from them, the taste of him heavy and sweet on his tongue, and pushes his fingers back in, because he just can't not do it.

"Please," Patrick begs; the word is garbled and slurred and Jonny knows he's going to drop into the non-verbal, primal point of his heat very soon.

"I got you," Jonny says; he slides his fingers out and swipes the slick over his cock, his hand trembling. His knot at the base of his cock is already throbbing and swollen, even though it's nowhere close to full, and he hasn't even fucked Patrick yet; he needs to knot soon. "I'm here."

He lines his cock up with Patrick's hole, and pushes in as Patrick gasps and throws his head back, clawing at the sheets.

Jonny tries to go slow, he really does; but it's impossible with the way Patrick's sopping wet hole opens up so nicely and easily for him, and the frenzied way Patrick fucks his hips back until his cheeks thud against Jonny's thighs. He grips Patrick's hips and tries to slow him down. "Patrick - you're going to hurt yourself."

Patrick moans and pushes himself back again shamelessly. "Need it," he sobs, and Jonny just - he can't deny Patrick anymore.

He snaps his hips forward as Patrick gasps, putting the power of his thighs into it, setting a furious, frenzied pace like every one of his senses are telling him to do, like Patrick _needs_. Patrick's scent hangs thick in the air and he takes deep lungfuls of it, the syrupy smell of an omega in heat - _his_ omega in heat - making him hurtle alarmingly quickly towards orgasm. It's rough and it's frantic and Jonny has to struggle to keep control of himself, to not disappear full-on into lust and forget that he's here to take care of Patrick.

Patrick's not far behind; when he looks down blearily to watch his cock disappear into Patrick's hole over and over, Patrick's squeezing down tight on it, fucking himself back on his cock, his hips rolling against Jonny's hold on them. Each time Jonny withdraws he can see trails of slick leaking out alongside his cock, dripping onto his bed, his cock gleaming sticky-wet with it.

Fuck. It's so hot. Patrick's so beautifully responsive, so wild for it; Jonny's not going to last.

His orgasm hits him right then, right as he's thinking that, and Jonny feels like a hovercraft just barrelled into him. "Patrick - _god_ ," he manages, and then he shoves himself forward until his rapidly-swelling knot pops past the tight, slippery rim of Patrick's hole. He can see it gape open for an instant before it winks closed around the base of his knot, but Jonny feels it still expanding just inside as he shoots pulse after pulse of come inside Patrick, filling him full.

Patrick flings his head back, mouth open, and shouts as he comes, locking firmly around Jonny's knot, his cock spurting to add to the wet patch already on the bed. The muscles on his back ripple for a beautiful minute, and Jonny has to lean down and lick at the sweat gleaming over his shoulder blades and the back of his neck while Patrick shudders and moans.

Patrick's right hand is flexing and scrabbling at the mattress, like he needs something to hold on to, so Jonny slots his fingers with Patrick's, lets Patrick cling on to his hand while the aftershocks of his orgasm rocks through his body. When it's over, he lowers Patrick gently so he's stretched out flat on the bed, legs spread to accommodate Jonny between them. Every time Jonny moves a little, his knot pulls gently against Patrick's rim; it makes Patrick groan.

"Sorry," he says, brushing a kiss against Patrick's sweaty temple. "I'm sorry. Are you feeling okay?"

He doesn't think Patrick's anywhere near coherent yet - his heat is still raging, Jonny can smell it - but he _needs_ to know if Patrick's alright.

"More," is all Patrick says, his voice cracked with need, and then he's rotating his hips in slow, jerky rolls, working himself around Jonny's knot. Every time he works his hips, Jonny can hear the frankly obscene squelching sounds of the slick and come between them both, plugged up inside Patrick with his knot. It's fucking hot, if Jonny's to be honest, thinking about filling Patrick up like that, keeping him full. He can't imagine how Patrick must feel, stretched so wide inside around a fat alpha knot, but he's completely blissed out on it, his cock dark purple-red and swollen even after his orgasm.

He supposes that answers his question about whether Patrick's okay.

He kneels up just enough to get his hands on Patrick's ass to spread him open again - it sends a frisson of lust and pleasure through him to see Patrick's hole, wet and red and knotted tight. The air is thick with the smell of sex and heat and the honey scent of Patrick and his slick, and he grinds deeper into Patrick, listens with satisfaction to Patrick's soft, stuttery moans.

"More," Patrick says again, sounding punch-drunk on pleasure.

Jonny gives him what he needs, grinding his still-hard cock into Patrick, the knot keeping them tied together so he can't do much other than rock himself against Patrick's ass; but Patrick shudders anyway and comes again, squeezing down around his knot and gasping into the pillows.

By the time Jonny's knot goes down enough for him to slip out, Patrick's come again twice and is still wordlessly begging for more, his hips still rolling like they have a life of their own. Jonny's lost for a moment at the sight of his cock sliding out of Patrick's soft wet hole, bringing with it a gush of slick and come that puddles between Patrick's splayed legs.

"God," he groans; there's something so viscerally _hot_ about seeing that, the evidence that he's fucked Patrick full, kept him wet for his cock. He traces his fingertips around the sodden rim, and bends to lick over it, Patrick's slick honey-sweet and bright on his tongue, mingled with the salt of his own come.

Patrick jerks against his mouth and then rocks back eagerly for more, lifting his ass in the air. Jonny keeps his cheeks spread as he licks into Patrick's sloppy, yielding hole, loose and open from his knot. He's still leaking so much, there are rivulets of slick dripping down Jonny's chin, smearing across his lips and cheeks as he buries his face in Patrick's ass and fucks him open with his tongue. The whimpery, breathy little sounds Patrick's making as he rides Jonny's face is making his cock start to fill again.

"That's it," he encourages softly, pulling back to lick up the copious trails of slick dribbling down Patrick's thighs and over his balls. "Just take what you need from me - that's it, baby."

Patrick flails a hand blindly backwards; it lands on the back of Jonny's head and he's pressing Jonny's face forward while he ruts backwards onto his mouth, and then he comes yet again, moaning with abandon as his thighs clench around Jonny's head and his hole clamps on Jonny's tongue. Jonny swallows the gush of sweet slick that follows, dizzy on the taste and scent of Patrick, and rubs his hand absently over his mouth before he rolls Patrick onto his side and fits himself behind him. He lifts one of Patrick's legs with his arm hooked under his thigh, and slots his cock, fully hard once more, between his cheeks; slips over Patrick's slippery hole for a couple of frustrating seconds before it finally catches on the rim and slides home.

" _Yes_ ," Patrick hisses as he does, the only clear word he's spoken in a while.

Jonny fucks him like that, with slow controlled thrusts, gentler and less frantic than before. He thumbs along Patrick's lower lip, watches his plush, red mouth fall open, so Jonny can press his slick-covered fingers inside for Patrick to suck on; Patrick closes his lips around them gratefully, eagerly.

"You're so good," he whispers. Patrick's lashes flutter against his cheeks at the praise and he sucks harder. He's so fucking pretty it makes Jonny's heart ache. "Such a good omega. The best."

Patrick jerks in his arms and comes again, whining in his throat, his hole clamping and squeezing on Jonny's growing knot. Jonny tucks his face into the nape of Patrick's neck and empties himself once more into Patrick, growling against his skin, his nose filling up with the heady scent of him.

He dimly wonders if Patrick needs more; but Patrick appears to be slipping into sleep, eyes sliding shut and mouth going slack around Jonny's fingers. Jonny knows that his heat's still not done - he can still smell it burning strong, and omega heats usually last a full day or two - but Patrick's body will snatch an hour or so of rest here and there between multiple couplings, keeping him from collapsing into full-on exhaustion.

Jonny draws Patrick as close to him as he possibly can, tangling their ankles together; his thighs are sticky with slick, but he doesn't care, just tucks Patrick against the lines of his body. Patrick fits with him like he's meant to be there - like he was always meant to be Jonny's.

He presses a kiss to Patrick's ear, and drifts into sleep as well, both of them knotted tight and snug.

\---

They spend the next - Jonny doesn't know how long, he loses track of time after a while - day, maybe two or three days, losing themselves in fucking and heat and Patrick's need, catching sleep once in a while. Jonny gets tap water from his bathroom and makes Patrick drink as much as he can; they haven't eaten but he doesn't feel hungry, his body carried along by the overriding need to mate over all else. Jonny manages to send a quick comms to Seabs while Patrick's asleep one time, telling him to take over command for the ship for a few days. _I'll explain later,_ he types. _Make sure I'm not disturbed no matter what._

Then he shuts down all his comms. The ship will just have to function without him for as long as Patrick needs him.

\---

Sometime in the middle of probably the third day, Jonny realises Patrick's becoming more lucid. His eyes are clearer and he's speaking better, instead of just one-word sentences. But the smell of heat still lingers, and he doesn't ask Jonny to stop, so Jonny keeps going with whatever Patrick wants.

He's sitting up and leaning against the headboard of his bed, Patrick riding him at a slow, measured pace, his arms wound around Jonny's neck. Jonny rubs his hands over Patrick's thighs, feeling the bunching of his quadriceps under them as he uses Jonny's cock to chase yet another orgasm. He's still sopping wet, and there's trails of slick leaking out of him every time he rises up on his knees, puddling on Jonny's thighs, coating his pubic hair and balls with it.

"Jesus," Jonny murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Patrick's lush mouth, now red and bitten from Jonny's teeth. "You're so wet. So wet for me, look at you, you're dripping with it."

Patrick whines; he turns his head blindly to mouth back at Jonny, kisses him hungrily. "Sorry," he says, and Jonny hates that right away. He hadn't meant for Patrick to apologise.

"No," he says quickly. "I like it." He reaches under Patrick's ass, swipes up the mingled come and slick between his legs. "Love it." He rubs his wet fingers around Patrick's hole, his cock swallowed into it, and pushes the slick back in even as more gushes out over his fingers. Patrick's so loose and fucked open, his rim so stretched from hours of fucking on Jonny's knot, that Jonny can cram three fingers in easily alongside his cock, no problem.

"God," Patrick groans hoarsely. He clenches down on Jonny's dick and fingers, starting to ride him faster, his own cock sliding in the sloppy mess of more come and slick and sweat on Jonny's abs. They're both absolutely fucking filthy, and Jonny revels in it. "This is - so good, Jonny. How is it - never knew it could be so good. Like this - ah, yes, please - "

"Have you - you've never done this before?" Jonny asks. He wonders if Patrick means he's never spent a heat with an alpha before, or if - if he means he's actually _never been fucked_ , period.

Patrick's still mouthing lazily, mindlessly at his lips. "Never," he says. "Never had anyone in me. Never knew it could feel like this."

"Fuck," Jonny says with feeling. He knows it's his stupid alpha hindbrain that's making him get all possessive and pleased about this, but he can't help it. He's glad he kept control of himself, didn't get rough or aggressive, and make it bad for Patrick, or worse, hurt him. He says this out loud, nosing along Patrick's jawline, laying tiny kisses on him as he goes.

Patrick laughs breathlessly. "You could never - make it bad. It's so good, your cock feels so good. Fuck, I need your knot now, please, Jonny."

He runs his hand over the short, shaven hair at the back of Jonny's head even though it's too short for him to grip, and presses his forehead to Jonny's. "Knot me again. Please, _alpha_."

Jonny's brain kind of shorts out a little, because the next thing he knows is he's shoved himself hard into Patrick and coming, his knot swelling up, Patrick's hole opening easily around it and taking it.

Patrick shudders and moans. "So fucking _good_ ," he breathes, and then he's coming too, adding to the wet mess on Jonny's chest and stomach. He cups his hand around the back of Jonny's head, his fingers scratching at the shaved hair, and kisses him again, trembling and panting. Watching and feeling Patrick come over and over on his knot, fucking greedy for it, is stunningly satisfying.

Jonny doesn't want this to ever end.

\---

Patrick's heat fades a few hours later; the spicy, hot scent of heat in the air slowly dissipates until all that's left is the smell of sex and slick and Patrick's own scent of honey and violets. It's crazy, but Patrick still wants more even though his heat's over, so Jonny rolls Patrick on top of him, lets Patrick ride four of his fingers. Without the frantic need of the heat rushing through him, Patrick's no longer desperately needy, but Jonny gets the sense that he just wants and likes to be filled up, to have Jonny on him and in him.

Jonny's mouthing gently over Patrick's nipples, swollen and sensitive and reddened from days of Jonny biting and sucking on them, when Patrick suddenly speaks, his voice cracked and rough. "Jonny - I - thank you."

Jonny lifts his head to gaze up at Patrick. "You - don't need to thank me, you know. We're mates now." He trips over the word; they're _mates_. The enormity of it hits him all of a sudden, like a brick to the face; if Patrick doesn't actually feel the same now that he's in possession of his faculties, if he was just using Jonny to get through his heat, then - Jonny will accept it, of course, he'd never force Patrick into anything - but his heart, his heart will break and there'll be nothing he can do about it.

"I know," Patrick agrees, and kisses him, and Jonny relaxes right away. They're mated. Patrick's his. Everything's good.

"But - you do still owe me an explanation," Jonny says when Patrick comes up for air. Patrick nods once and squeezes lightly around his fingers, sunk deep inside him, and makes as if to pull off; but Jonny wraps his free arm around his waist. "No - it's okay. Stay like this. Just talk to me when you're ready."

"Yeah," Patrick whispers. He twines his arms around Jonny's shoulders. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Okay," Jonny says, and waits.

Patrick bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath, like he's gathering his thoughts. He's still rolling his hips gently on Jonny's fingers, almost like an afterthought, but Jonny senses that the contact is comforting for him, and keeps his fingers where they are. "So - well, I'm an omega. Obviously."

"Obviously," Jonny echoes. The trails of slick still leaking from Patrick say as much, he thinks wryly.

"Remember when I told you I'd always wanted to join the military and be able to pilot a ship of my own?"

"Yeah?"

"So - I did. I pretended to be an alpha. My family were worried sick about me doing it, of course. They still are. But I've managed to avoid detection all these years, and they're better about it now."

"But - how?" Jonny asks. "How _did_ you do it? How did you mask your scent - and change it to an alpha's? Suppressants don't change dynamics. Or scents."

"Well, I took suppressants mainly to stop my heats from occurring. As for the scent - " Patrick hesitates. "Have you ever heard of this drug called _Morphoseon_? It's derived from a plant of the same name."

Jonny stares at him, shock exploding in his mind. "Patrick - that's illegal. That drug is illegal."

"I know," Patrick whispers. "I bought it off black markets. I know it's illegal. But - I had to. It's the only thing available that could change my scent from that of an omega to an alpha. And - it doesn't work very well, obviously. That's why my scent was kind of weak - it's not effective enough to give an omega a real, strong alpha scent. But you know what, I didn't mind or care, because I didn't want people sniffing around me anyway."

Jonny gets it now - why Patrick's smell always made him feel strange and off-balance. It's because that alpha scent was synthetic - it wasn't his real scent, and something inside Jonny must have sensed that.

"I think I could tell, sort of," he confesses. "Your scent always seemed weird and off to me. But - if I could smell that, why couldn't other alphas? You've spent half your life around alphas."

Patrick shrugs. "I don't know. No one's ever mentioned it to me. Maybe they were just too polite to bring up my scent. Or maybe - you know, I could tell that you thought something was strange about me too, even though you never said anything to me. Maybe it's because we're mates. Our bodies recognised that before we did."

And - well, that makes a lot of sense. Dynamical biology is still not well understood, because so much of it is driven by pure instinct; but Jonny thinks there's a high possibility of that occurring with him and Patrick.

"What about the physicals?" Jonny asks. "How did you pass those? Your blood tests and stuff, and your - you don't have a knot, the visual examination would have shown that."

Patrick chews his lip again. "When I went for the physicals, to qualify for the Academy, I had my alpha cousin's blood and pee with me, hidden in vials under my clothes. I submitted those instead of my real blood and urine samples."

Jonny gapes at him. _Holy shit._

"And I lied about my age. I made myself two years younger than I really am, said I was younger than my sister Erica. I know my file says I'm twenty-two now - I'm actually twenty-four, and the oldest in my family. I joined the Academy when I was eighteen, not sixteen - I lied that I was sixteen so that I wouldn't seem _quite_ so acutely undersized. And I managed to convince the doctors that I was a late bloomer, knot-wise. I'd read that some alphas didn't pop their knots until they were eighteen - so, you know, it was plausible. And once I got past that, the intelligence and psychological tests were a cakewalk."

He laughs, a short, sharp, bitter sound. "If there was anything I could get through, it was those. I've always had to study harder, work harder, to prove myself, because I was a 'small alpha'. Because I'm a fucking omega in an alpha-only military. I had to become so fucking good that no one would ever question my dynamic no matter how I looked."

"Jesus christ," Jonny says softly. He reaches up to cup Patrick's face, kisses him. His mind is racing, and his heart thumping at a furious rate. He's truly, really scared, for the first time ever in his life. "Patrick, you - that's crazy. That's _insane_. That's a court-martial. You know that, right?"

Patrick looks down at him. His blue eyes are crystal-sharp and intense, and Jonny knows, right away, that the consequences of everything he's done has always been clear to Patrick, even if Jonny himself doesn't understand the full ramifications as yet. "I know," he says, holding himself straight and proud and upright. "But well, at least I can say I've shot down four hundred and thirty-eight Federation ships."

"What?" Jonny asks, thrown by the abrupt non-sequitur.

"Four hundred and thirty-eight confirmed kills, Colonel," Patrick says. His mouth slants into a sharp grin, even though his eyes are sad. "Tell me - how many alphas in any of your units have come anywhere close, in less than two years of service?"

"Fuck," Jonny breathes. Patrick's right. He's the most brilliant, talented pilot in the entirety of the Space Corps, and Jonny will be fucked if he loses Patrick over this, just because he wanted to serve his planet and fight in this godforsaken war.

Patrick keeps smiling. "Now fuck me again," he says; he lifts himself off Jonny's fingers and rolls to the side, onto his back, and draws his legs up to his chest. "Fuck me. Please."

"Patrick," Jonny says helplessly; and Patrick pulls him in, kissing him, guiding his cock to his hole. He locks his legs around Jonny's waist, keeps him close like he thinks this might be the final time he'll get to have it.

Jonny has to report Patrick, he knows. It's his duty and his responsibility to do so. But he's going to find a way to save Patrick from a court-martial, even if his life and career depend on it.

\---

Patrick finally succumbs to the bone-deep exhaustion of a three day heat; he falls asleep after they're done, curled up in the dirty, sodden sheets. Jonny fills a basin with water and wipes Patrick's body clean as much as he can with a sponge; it doesn't help much, not without being able to change the sheets, but at least Patrick isn't covered in crusty dried layers of come.

He drapes a clean blanket around Patrick and then goes to take a shower, fighting off his own tiredness. He can't sleep yet. There's too much to do.

He makes sure to dress in full uniform, clipping his medals on, and slips into the office attached to his bedroom.The door hisses closed behind him when he presses a button; he doesn't want to wake Patrick.

Then he switches on his comms, and logs an encrypted holographic call to General Bowman back in Space Corps HQ on Earth.

\---

General Bowman looks stunned when he's finished; he takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. "So you're telling me," he says slowly, "that the Space Corps has had an omega in its midst for the past six years. An omega in a military that only recruits alphas. And you're now _mated_."

"Yes," Jonny says.

"That's a court-martial, Colonel," the general says, echoing Jonny's words from earlier. "He's broken so many laws - I can't even start."

"Yes, it is," Jonny agrees. "But I have to say this - if you court-martial him, you'll have to do the same to me."

"You? Why?" General Bowman asks, shocked.

This is it. This is the moment, when Jonny could lose Patrick. Lose everything.

"Because I found out much earlier," he says. "I found out soon after Lieutenant Kane arrived onboard the Blackhawk. And I covered it up for him."

It's the only lie he's ever told his superior, and the only lie he ever will.

General Bowman sputters. "You - what? _What?_ Why did you do that?"

"Because, quite simply, sir, he's the best damn pilot we have. He's always been circumspect and appropriate, I must point out - even at this point, no one apart from myself knows he's an omega. No one has ever suspected it of him. Even when he knew he was likely to be outed after our blockade in the Cenderis System, he still finished his mission without hesitation. And he has _four hundred and thirty-eight_ confirmed kills. I do not want to lose a man like him."

Bowman stares at him through the hologram, goggle-eyed. "Colonel - are you saying - you’d be willing to stand trial for him? Lose your dreadnought, your career - for this?"

"Yes," Jonny says firmly.

"I must say - you're putting me in a spot here, Colonel. You're putting me in a real tight spot."

"I'm sorry, sir," Jonny says coolly.

"This is - I want you to know that this is extremely irregular, and unprecedented."

"Yes, sir."

"But - you're putting me in a bind. Quite frankly, the Space Corps cannot afford to lose your command, or your dreadnought. The Blackhawk has conducted successful missions at a far higher rate than most of our other dreadnoughts."

"I know," Jonny says with satisfaction. "And I will remind you, sir, that much of that is due to the talent of Lieutenant Kane."

Bowman glares at him. "I will - I make no promises, but I'll speak to - some people. And I want you and Lieutenant Kane to be prepared to answer a summons back to Earth to explain yourselves, if necessary."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

The hologram winks out as Bowman clicks off, and then Jonny's left with only static in his comms. He leans back in his chair, shaking with relief. They're not out of the woods quite yet, but Jonny - he thinks it may be okay.

\---

They have to attend a closed-door tribunal on Earth. There are only three persons on the tribunal, and it's headed by General Bowman, so Jonny knows it's more a formality than anything else. Nevertheless, he makes sure he and Patrick gather as many high-ranking witnesses as they can, to testify in Patrick's defence.

Major General Savard, who oversaw Patrick's early years of training at the Academy, swears up and down that he never knew, that no one could tell, and that Patrick's displayed nothing but prodigious talent and loyalty to Earth and the anti-Federation alliance since he was a trainee. Major General Quenneville, who'd given Patrick a personal recommendation to the Blackhawk, repeats that Patrick's one of the best pilots in the galaxy at the moment, and it would be folly to deny Earth of his service. Captain Sharp is summoned from the Blackhawk to attest to Patrick's thirst for knowledge and his intelligence, and assures the tribunal that no one ever knew a thing about him being an omega, that he's never been inappropriate around the alphas.

It takes only an hour of deliberation before they rule that Patrick has to serve a six-month suspension, with an official reprimand going on his record, and Jonny gets an official reprimand as well; but _no court-martial_. No court-martial, no expulsion from the Space Corps, no dishonourable discharge from the military; it's as good as saying tacitly that after his suspension, Patrick's free to return to the Blackhawk, and continue to fly for the Space Corps.

It's the best outcome Jonny's dared hope for, and when Patrick turns his face up to him, eyes shining with relief and gratitude, Jonny pulls him in for a tight hug.

"Thank you," Patrick whispers, clinging on to him like a lifeline. "Thank you, thank you - "

"I fucking love you," Jonny says.

\---

Patrick has to stay on Earth for the six months to serve out his suspension. He's banned from being involved with the military during that period, so he can't even work at HQ on the ground, but he tells Jonny it's okay. "I'll go back to Buffalo, stay with my family," he says. "Look, I even bought a new communicator. It's holographic and encrypted, so you can call me and see me anytime, okay?"

"Okay," Jonny agrees, even though it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do, to step onto the Blackhawk while the door clangs closed and leave Patrick behind on Earth. He comforts himself by thinking that at least he'll be safe and happy with his family.

In the meantime, he has some changes to make on his ship, while he waits for Patrick to come back.

\---

One of the good things about Patrick being on Earth is that he lets his hair grow out again; it's as beautiful as Jonny had imagined, a messy halo of dark blond curls around his face, and Jonny longs to run his fingers through it, maybe yank on it a little while Patrick's sucking him off.

He tells Patrick this during one of their calls, and Patrick's eyes go gratifyingly dark, even though he's just jerked off the way Jonny ordered him to, and his come is still gleaming on his stomach, his inner thighs slippery with the gush of slick from his orgasm. "You're so romantic, Jonny," he says, laughing slightly.

It's just then that Jonny remembers the day he saw Patrick at the barber's on the ship, the pang he felt at the blond curls being shorn off; and he decides to tell Patrick about it, stuttering a little, because he's not sure whether Patrick's going to find that stupid or not.

Instead, Patrick looks at him fondly through the hologram, and says, "You really are a fucking sappy romantic. I love it. I love _you_."

Jonny sighs, his heart lightening. It's stupid, really; it's ridiculous how much he loves Patrick. And he'll never get over the sheer joy of knowing that Patrick loves him back.

"By the way," he says, "I got special permission from the General. Since you're an omega, you can't - and won't have to - share a bunk with the other men anymore. And since we're mated, you're allowed to stay in my quarters."

Patrick grins, dimples popping. "That's exactly what I want," he says, and then casually spreads his legs open so Jonny can see his hole, distinctly glistening wet even on the hologram. "Want to tell me what you're going to do to me, when I'm back on the ship and living in your commander's quarters?"

Jonny's cock twitches interestedly. "Of course," he says agreeably.

\---

It's the longest, most interminable six months of Jonny's life; but finally it's over and Patrick's given the official all-clear to return.

Patrick arrives at the Blackhawk after an impatient two-day wait for Jonny; he still has no idea why the fucking Space Corps sent Patrick on a supply transport instead of a proper starship that can make the jumps through hyperspace and bring Patrick to him in six hours. He's waiting impatiently at the landing bay, watching the transport land and be towed to its berth, Unit 88 standing behind him, fidgeting excitedly.

The door opens and a ramp slides out, agonisingly slow for Jonny; but then Patrick's there.

He's there, the grin on his face radiating pure joy, and then he's hopping down the ramp before it's even fully extended, nearly running. His hair's cropped short at the sides and back like he has to for the military - but it's no longer a buzz cut. He's left it just long enough for it to curl slightly, but just barely short enough to conform with military regulations, flirting with the very edge of the rules.

His smile is so bright, Jonny has to blink; and the next moment Patrick's reached him and flung himself into his arms. Jonny holds him tight, just relishing it, the feel and smell of his omega in his arms again, that scent of honey and violets he's missed and craved for long months.

Unit 88 are catcalling and whooping, and Jonny knows he has to let go of Patrick eventually so he can greet his unit mates, update them and shoot the shit; but he thinks he'll just stand here a few minutes more, cradling Patrick in his arms, breathing him in.

So he carries on; Patrick clings back tightly, his fingers digging into Jonny's back, and the world falls away around them until there's nothing but him and Patrick, holding on to each other.


End file.
